Fenris: Musings
by PrincessMidna90
Summary: Fenris muses on his life in Hightown and how much has changed, although some things remains the same.


The bodies are still there, several years on. Fenris has stopped trying to figure it out, assuming it's just another part of his cursed life.

They act as a reminder of who he is and who he has become.

At least they don't reek, which is equally odd.

Still, he wishes moving the corpses would have worked, that they hadn't reappeared in the same places by the time he got up the morning after having moved them.

Seems magic will always be a part of his life, though it's easier now, though he understands more.

All because of Hawke.

Fenris often thinks about the fact, when he's all alone, tracing the lyrium branded into his flesh, hoping the memories will come back.

Like it did that time with Hawke.

The wolf wonders how someone like him, branded, broken and beaten, all because of mages and magisters, could fall for someone inherently like the ones he's spent most of his life hating.

But this is Hawke.

Hawke is different.

He is more, and less. Less of the bad kind, more of the few good things about that brand of people.

He understands the danger he is without being able to change that. He understands that the Circle was made to help mages and regular people, but he also knows how corrupt and evil some of those places are.

And the other man understands because he's seen the evil first-hand, because he's hunted down fellow mages either because of blood magic or because they escaped and the Templars want them back.

Because he's Hawke.

The mage is kind, yet ruthless; sarcastic with a terrible sense of humor, and even worse sense of when to be serious or not.

But Fenris loves Hawke.

Because (in spite?) of all this, he still loves him.

Fenris remembers hearing about birds of prey called hawkes.

Captured and used for hunting, the birds are kept in cages, brought only out for training and hunting. The humans have to wear thick leather gloves as protection from the claws and beaks. Because even though they own them, they can't control them.

It seems an apt description for his Hawke.

Because Hawke, unlike him, would never be tied down and controlled, less he'd be made tranquil.

The thought sends a spike of fear and worry through his lithe frame and makes his heart skip a beat, before kicking back in a galloping rhythm. He jumps up from his bed, puts on his gauntlets and grabs the sword Hawke had gifted him with; the one he wields with irony.

Fenris runs all the way to Hawke's mansion. It's not far, but worry leaves him standing at the door heaving for breath. When he knocks and it's Bodahn, not Garret, who opens the door, the fear grips him even tighter.

It must be apparent on him, because Bodahn takes a step back before telling him where Hawke can be found.

The way to the mansion had been bad enough, but Lowtown? The Hanged Man was their go-to place for unwinding, but it wasn't safe there. Nowhere was safe, not for him and not for Hawke. How Hawke hadn't been caught so far was a mystery, because the man liked to drink, and when he'd had too much, he liked to talk.

Talking wasn't a good thing for a mage to do, much less a drunk mage. Though Anders was worse when it came to the talking, he hadn't been caught either.

Fenris finds Hawke in Varric's room, listening to Isabela recite her latest story about the mage and himself. The flush on Hawke's face could be from too much alcohol, or it could be from the words and phrases flowing from Isabela's mouth and the laugh from Varric.

During a very describing sentence from her, Hawke looks away and sees him standing in the doorway.

"Fenris?" There's worry in Hawke's voice, but the worry is nothing compared to what had raced through Fenris' mind and body for what had felts like decades.

"You're safe," Fenris says, and there is so much relief and exhaustion forming his words, slipping past his lips.

Then Hawke's hands are on him just before he collapses, and the strength that flows through him is both because of magic and the presence of the mage's hands on his arms.

For what is probably the first time in his life, Fenris feels comforted by magic.

There is wonder in the thought, and surprise, and had it been anyone else, he wouldn't be here now. Maybe he would be dead, or in an entirely different city. Maybe evn back with his former master.

But magic, the very object of his hatred for all the years he can remember, is now the very thing that makes him feel safe and protected.

Because of Hawke.

Because even though Hawke is a mage, it doesn't define the man. What defines him is his personality; one that has been formed by friends and family and companions and a sense of what is right and what is wrong and running away from the only home he'd ever had, only to have to start from scratch in a town he knew nothing about.

"Of course I'm safe, Fenris. You're here." There is wonder on his face. Wonder and love and the promise of safety.

Hawke is Hawke. Nothing more, nothing less.

And that is why Fenris loves him.


End file.
